


How to Tame Your Talon

by villainovae



Series: Villa's fills for DickDami Week 2021 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dick Grayson is a Talon, DickDami Week 2021, First Meeting, Gen, light and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainovae/pseuds/villainovae
Summary: “If you think you can sneak up on me, you’re sorely mistaken! Come out and fight, coward,” He hissed. Scanning the rooftops, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. A pigeon pecked disinterestedly at a plastic bag-- which made the same exact sound he had heard as it blew in the wind.Alright. He was just being paranoid. Chances are he hadn’t been followed at all, or perhaps Father had gone after him but turned back around.He turned around to see a man standing not even ten feet away.DickDami Week Day 1 - First Meeting
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Villa's fills for DickDami Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199042
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	How to Tame Your Talon

**Author's Note:**

> For the DickDami week Day 1 prompt 'first meeting', although you may interpret this as fitting the 'domination/slave' prompt as well ;)
> 
> TW for: implied conditioning/mindbreak and scars 
> 
> This is a little wholesome appetizer for this week! Probably will add a few more chapters to this in a bit or so, check out my coming entries for the rest of the week in the meantime :)

“You can’t  _ ground  _ me! I am not a child,” Damian seethed. 

Father sighed. “Yes, you are, Damian. I am your father, and you will listen to me until you turn eighteen.”

Damian scoffed. “Stop acting as if you raised me. You didn’t.”

“Damian, don’t you dare leave,” Father warned, but didn’t follow him as he released his grappling line and swung off the rooftop.

It wasn’t fair! How did Father expect him to be Robin, and yet not let him fight  _ ever _ ? He was the son of Talia Al Ghul and Batman, he could take every goon in this thrice-damned city without even breaking a sweat. He was not just any other child, he was Damian Wayne.

...And Damian Wayne quickly realized he was being followed. 

He sped up, jumping and swinging across rooftops, running every time his feet touched the ground. He was practically flying. Of course, it wouldn’t stop his pursuer. He swung to the top of a building with a decrepit-looking facade-- the inside, of course, was perfectly livable, as this was a Bat safehouse. 

“Leave me alone, Father!” He shouted, to no response. Damian huffed. “Fine! I promise I won’t do any more patrol tonight, okay?” 

Father usually left him alone when he didn’t want to sleep in the manor. Despite the comfort of his pets, there were such factors as Drake and Todd and his father. There were times when he preferred one of the safehouses he had commandeered, where he was free to hide as many weapons as he wanted without anyone coming and taking them away. 

Speaking of weapons, he wished he had brought more as a shadow fluttered in the corner of his vision. He whipped his head towards it.

“If you think you can sneak up on me, you’re sorely mistaken! Come out and fight, coward,” He hissed. Scanning the rooftops, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. A pigeon pecked disinterestedly at a plastic bag-- which made the same exact sound he had heard as it blew in the wind.

Alright. He was just being paranoid. Chances are he hadn’t been followed at all, or perhaps Father had gone after him but turned back around. 

He turned around to see a man standing not even ten feet away.

He was wearing formfitting black body armor that covered everything except the top of his neck, face, and black hair. Perhaps ‘man’ wasn’t the correct word-- the suit was familiar to Damian, as was the unnaturally pale skin and the black veins that disappeared under his high collar. They were not usually exposed, but the gold eyes (bright, like molten metal) were a telltale sign.

“A Talon? We got rid of your kind.”

The Talon stared blankly at him. Physically, he appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties. He was lean and fit with a handsome face, although marked by silvery scars barely visible on top of his skin.

“The Court is gone. Demolished,” Damian said (well, gloated). “I should put you out of your misery. A Talon, even without a master, is a danger.” But upon drawing his sword, he reconsidered. Father had forbidden him from killing with it, saying that if he did it would be taken away from him, and although Father had no right to take anything away from him, it would still be an… inconvenience. 

Perhaps Father would give him more freedoms if he acted in ways that would garner his approval without being told. In Damian’s mind, killing the Talon would be a mercy. It was lost, and more than that it was already dead. But Father wouldn’t have. Father  _ didn’t _ . The Talons that were not euthanized by the Court were still in their cryochambers, peacefully asleep. 

Plus, killing Talons was a pain. Generally, they had to have their heads cut off. They disliked fire, and light. 

“ _ Tt _ . Are you going to attack me, or not?”

The Talon cocked his head to the side. Something in Damian softened in him. Titus did that as well, focused his eyes on him and tilted his head… 

“If you’re not, run along. I’ll call Batman,” He threatened.

The Talon did no such thing. 

“Are you broken, or something?”

Talon blinked. It didn’t look like there was much going on in his mind.

“Come on, go.” He tried to shoo him away. “Before I change my mind.”

The Talon opened its mouth.

“No.” 

It sounded awfully cheery, even though its voice was rough and hoarse.

“What?” Talons rarely spoke. When they did it was because they were ordered to, and this one could not have been ordered to because the Court of Owls was gone.

The Talon approached him slowly. He made ready his sword, but didn’t step back-- he wasn’t a coward. 

Damian watched in abject horror as the Talon’s mouth curled into what was a relatively normal-looking smile. Normal for a living, breathing, person. Not for a Talon. No, never for a Talon.

“You are broken, aren’t you,” Damian murmured. Something was definitely wrong with the Talon. Perhaps the conditioning process was done incorrectly, and the Court let him free? No, they would have killed him. Maybe his conditioning was unfinished, interrupted by the destruction of the Court and never completed. That seemed likely. He had never seen a Talon perform any sort of action that demonstrated human emotions. Talons weren’t even capable of mimicking them (which he assumed this one was doing).

A wind blew by that stung the exposed skin of Damian’s face. He had been through worse, of course, but winter in Gotham was particularly harsh and unpleasant. It was enjoyable, however, to watch Titus play in the snow. Besides, his suit was well-insulated.

The Talon shivered. It was a minuscule movement, but detectable to a trained eye like Damian’s. He was reminded of a few nights ago, when he had stumbled upon a cardboard box with a mother cat and her kittens, all shivering from the cold and far too thin. He would have taken them home, but it wasn’t practical: his other pets may have reacted badly, and he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to keep them, anyways. So he brought them to a no-kill shelter he trusted, and made sure that they were given the proper treatment. They settled in nicely, with heat and food and blankets.

“Oh. You’re cold?” He asked, without thinking.

Talon blinked but started nodding, slowly.

“Come. Let’s get you out of the cold.” He motioned for Talon to follow him into the window of the safehouse, a half-formed plan in his mind. 

He was very good with animals. He had broken wild horses before-- his grandfather had been particularly impressed with him that day. To say nothing of his training of Titus and Alfred (the dog and cat were both immaculately behaved, thank you very much, Drake). His observations had concluded Talons were… somewhat animalistic in nature, or at least made that way through their conditioning. His hypothesis was thus: that if properly trained, a Talon could be made to obey any master, not just the Court, especially if their programming by the Court was unfinished.

The thermostat  _ click click clicked  _ as he turned the heated flooring on in the safehouse. Talon, remarkably, followed him in-- admittedly, he had not expected it.

Talon looked surprised as he touched the warm floor. He tapped it a few times with his toe, then looked at Damian with the same pleasant smile on his face.

“Talon, can you comprehend language?” He asked.

Talon just stared at him, still smiling and blinking vacantly.

He sighed. “Alright, how about this: why were you following me?”

An expression of concentration overtook him. After a bit, he spoke.

“Bird.”

“Bird?” Damian repeated. “...Robin? Did you know I was Robin?”

Talon cocked his head in confusion again. 

“Hm… No? Why ‘bird’?”

“Flying,” Talon said, almost wistfully. 

Damian briefly considered attempting to knock the Talon out, as this may have very well been a lost cause, but he decided to have a few more tries at it.

“Talon. Can you understand me?”

“Understand masters,” Talon said. “Masters gone.”

He didn’t seem all that sad, or all that happy. Just blank, unemotional.

“Well,” Damian announced. “I’m your master now, got it?”

Talon brightened up. “Master?”

“Yes.” Damian puffed out his chest. His plan seemed to be working. “My name is Damian. That’s what you’ll call me, alright?”

“Damian,” Talon chirped. 

Without any warning, Talon suddenly lunged at Damian. Immediately, he prepared to fight, but Talon’s superhuman reflexes made him faster. He wrapped his arms around Damian--  _ embracing  _ him.

Damian’s face was stuffed into Talon’s chest, awkwardly pressed against the material (some sort of kevlar-spandex weave, he assumed). 

“Master is so small,” Talon cooed. 

Hm. So he did have the capability for complex sentences, not just mimicry. 

...It seemed he had gotten a defective Talon.

“Talon! No! Bad boy!” Damian barked, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but his arms were like steel cables, and quickly closing in. Perhaps he did intend to suffocate him after all. 

Talon frowned. “Talon is bad?”

“Yes, Talon! Now let me go!”

The man-- zombie--  _ thing  _ reluctantly let go of him.

“I told you to call me Damian, okay?” There was something disconcerting about what looked like an adult man calling him ‘Master’, even if it wasn’t really a person. “And don’t do that again without my permission.”

Talon nodded, looking a bit like a scolded puppy. “Okay, Damian.” He sounded out each syllable like a child. 

Damian wiped a film of dirt off of his suit. Talon was  _ filthy _ .

“You desperately need to be washed. Tell me, Talon: do you require food or water? The other Talons do not, but because you are so  _ subversive _ …”

Talon shakes his head, a smile on his face. “Damian is so kind, looking after Talon.”

“...That’s not an answer, but I’ll assume ‘no’ for now. Come, let’s get you a shower.”

It turned out that Talon was not a fan of the shower. 

Damian turned the dial to where he thought was appropriate-- warm but not hot. There was only one pressure setting (somewhat hard), thank you, Drake. 

“Talon, get in here!”

But Talon only whined, put his hands on his ears, and ran off into the safehouse. Damian groaned. He went after him, and eventually did find him-- curled up under the bed.

“Are you going to come out?”

Talon whined again, hands still clutched to his ears

“Oh. The sound bothers you, doesn’t it?” He could hear it from here, the noise of the water pounding on the porcelain tub. “Here, how about I draw you a bath, okay?” 

He left Talon in the bedroom, turning the shower off and turning the bath faucet on. Talon walked completely silently, but Damian noticed him out of the corner of his eye, peering into the room. 

“Come here, Talon. Is this warm enough?” He made it on the hotter end of the spectrum so that when it cooled it would not be too cold for the undead assassin.

Reluctantly, Talon crept closer. 

“Take off your suit, Talon.”

The suit dropped on the floor. 

The black veins spanned his body, dark in some places and grey in others. Over top of the skin laid dozens upon dozens of scars-- some small and some painfully large. If Damian were any normal boy, he would have winced.

“...Is Master displeased?”

Damian huffed. “No, not at all. And you better be in the bath by the time I come back.” He picked up Talon’s suit and turned on his heel, out of the room.

Surprisingly, kevlar is completely machine-washable, even using regular detergent. Of course, the material of the suit was a blend, and enhanced with something. Damian wasn’t quite sure what (that would require a microscope), but it seemed close enough to his own that he threw it in the washing machine with what Todd affectionately called “Bat-detergent”, a specially made extra-strength cleaner. He made sure to close several doors along the way, in case Talon was alarmed by the noise. He made a mental note that his new “pet” was spooked by loud noise.

The suit was washed, and it dried almost instantly as he took it out. 

Upon returning to the bathroom door, he noticed… splashing sounds emanating from behind it. Was Talon drowning?  _ Could  _ Talon drown? No, Talon didn’t breathe, that was impossible. He flung the door open, letting it bang against the wall.

“Talon?”

The assassin’s legs were hanging over the side of the tub, torso and head completely submerged. Water coated the tile floor of the room-- he probably should have laid down a towel.

Talon’s head shot up from the water.

“Warm,” He said, happily.

Damian peered over the tub, viewing the depleted amount of water it still held. It was a muddy sort of color.

“Get out and dry yourself off, Talon. You’ll only get filthier by staying in there.”

“Yes, Damian.”

Talon complied, shivering as his wet skin touched the air, and drying himself with efficiency as Damian threw him a towel. 

“Put this on, now.”

Talon put on the suit obediently. Damian watched as he slid the hidden zippers up and snapped the fasteners-- no locking mechanisms to disable, which was good. 

“Well, I had intended to sleep here tonight, but this safehouse may not provide you with adequate enrichment,” Damian thought aloud. There were many misconceptions that to tame an animal one had to be cruel to it, but they were simply untrue. Drake and Todd often said he was spoiling his pets, but he was doing no such thing: only providing them with what they needed at the utmost quality. To tame an animal, one had to earn its trust-- respect, loyalty, and unconditional love would follow. “The manor it is, then.” He gestured for Talon to follow (he skipped happily along).

This was not the same as the kittens. Father wouldn’t have approved of those, because there were plenty of others fit to care for those kittens. But as far as Damian was concerned, there was only one person fit to care for lost Talons: him. 

Hopefully, he could keep him.

If not… he’d just have to find some other way.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed, this was fun to write XD


End file.
